


The Targaryen Dragons

by Eclipse_Tyrant



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire
Genre: Battle Above the God’s Eye, First Tumbleton, Gen, More characters to come, Razing of Harrenhal, Second Tumbleton, The Field of Fire, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:40:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24131470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eclipse_Tyrant/pseuds/Eclipse_Tyrant
Summary: Dragons. Mounts of kings and queens, beasts of war, great fiery serpents. They have their own tales to tell, their own rivalries and hopes. From the Black Dread to the Last Dragon, from the Doom to the Dance, Fire and Blood rule them.But who can know the heart of a dragon?
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	1. Sunfyre the Golden

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by the tantalizing clues in Fire and Blood that dragons knew more than they let on. Silverwing with Vermithor, especially, implied the dragons had personality. More so than an animal, but still animalistic. The dragons have not been anthropomorphized, but I hope I’ve conveyed a soul to them.
> 
> Started with Sunfyre. Grey Ghost is next...

The first thing Sunfyre knows is the smoking-hot-cavernous pit where he hatched. The walking-wingless-ones feed him and his clutchmates, and he grows. Before long, the silver-hair-purple-eyes come. One chooses him, and names him.

“I’m going to call you Sunfyre! One day, Father said we can fly!”

And so they do.

***

Sunfyre nuzzles his silver-Aegon, and stretches out. The harness straps and chains are tightened, as the old-pale-grim-burning-queen snaps at the air. Little-walkers scramble out of her way, and her wings cast even him in shadow. His silver-Aegon cracks the whip, and he roars golden fire. 

The red-pink-blood-queen howls, dropping her hoofed-prey-animal-not-for-food. Her shining-skin-black-hair-rider drives her on, as Sunfyre rises. The earth falls away, and the old-queen follows.  
The sky-light is going out far away, and darkness is pouring across the stone-bad-cold-nest. Silver-Aegon shouts a word, and he brings back the day, pink and gold burning away the evening sky-mist. The queens hiss, and the red-queen seems to falter before the flames. The silver-Aegon spurs him on, and Sunfyre swoops towards her softer, copper belly.

Red jaws close, and glowing blood pours from his neck. 

He writhes and kicks, and almost wrenches free as the old-queen bears down on both. As the break-bone ground approaches, Sunfyre desperately throws out his wings.

And then there is black.

***

He drags his bulk through the mud, hissing in pain. His scales, once-pristine, are caked with filth. Sunfyre painfully preens his wounded wing, scraping the dried blood away. He hobbles to a drier patch, and lays out on the sun-warm-dirt. Another little-walker heaves a hairy-hoofed-prey in his direction, and he flames it. 

The black-bones of the red-pink-blood-queen are scattered across the field. He ate her flesh, with the old-queen. His silver-Aegon is away, but he feels the echo of his pain. 

A noise reaches him, and suddenly he is surrounded by little-walkers. They slash and cut with shining-talons, and Sunfyre bathes them in molten gold. He struggles to fly, ripping his wounds open anew, three times. Black talons and fangs tear, his tail smashing them as he bucks. 

At last, he is alone. 

Sunfyre lies there, panting. Then he clambers up a hill, and beats his wings. Slowly, painfully, he rises.

He needs to go.

***

In the cold-mist-woods, he recovers. Eating his own kills, blundering through the ferns to better hiding places. Caves and hollows, and tall-pine-trees, shelter him. At last, he feels strong enough. His wounds are no longer agony. He still waits, for his scales to come in. For armor.

Then his silver-Aegon calls.

He answers.

The night is dark when he rises off the stony-cold-water-land, the sea crashing far below. His shining-pink wings shimmer, catching the dawn as he races the storm. The smoking-mountain of his birth is visible, he can smell the sulfur and dragonstink.  
A pale-grey-ghost-serpent rises, ethereal flame catching. Sunfyre and Grey-Ghost duel, black talons ripping and slashing. The Ghost is light, young, tender. The Golden is heavy, older, tough.  
Black blood falls.

Sunfyre feasts on the cold-black-glass sand, and slowly rises again.

***

His silver-Aegon drives him on, struggling to hold on. He shouts encouragement he does not comprehend, and turns him towards the black-fire-ash-smell-stone-nest. Sunfyre glides, exhausted.  
Then the moon-green-pearl-hatchling roars. He cannot fight, but his precious silver-Aegon needs him. So he fights, tossing around to protect his silver-Aegon from pale fire. The battle is fierce, sharp-bone-pain in his scarred wing. Claws shear scales away from his belly and back.

At last, he burns the hatchlings eyes. But he falls, shattering a hip and ripping his wings. Sunfyre tears at the moon-green-hatchling, even as her fangs and claws shreds his belly. A sudden pain, and one eye goes dark. Sunfyre bites down, and rips.

His silver-Aegon screams, even after the hatchling is still. 

***

When he eats the silver-Aegon-clutchmate, he is filled.

The pain grows, though. Grows even with his feedings. His scales fall off, rot-stench in every breath. Silver-Aegon cannot be with him, when he himself is so wounded. Eventually, the pain is too much.

He gives up.

Sunfyre dies dreaming of flight.


	2. The Three Lessons of the Grey Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grey Ghost, most elusive of dragons. Not elusive enough.

The First Lesson 

The first lesson he learns is to be quiet. The old-coal-scale-cannibal-queen has keen hearing, and is ravenous. Any misstep is death, any wingbeat a risk. The baleful green gaze scours the crags, watches the young dragons test their wings. Many dragons perish in black jaws. 

The Grey Ghost only flies when the Cannibal is far away. He makes his lair in a smoking-fire-ash-pit, digging a nest from the wall, on the opposite side of the smoking-mountain. When the Cannibal is sleeping, he hunts. When it flies, he hunkers down beneath a layer of ash. If he catches the slightest smell, he vanishes into the sky.

***

He learned a new trick. 

He was fishing, plucking salty-scaly-prey from the waters, and grew negligent in his watch. The Cannibal rose from its lair as he skimmed the cold-dark-deep-salt-water, and caught his scent. Black-green flames lit up the predawn, and the hoary old beast soared in his direction.

The Ghost fled into the morning mist, circling the old-cannibal. It didn’t take notice, howling in frustration. The pale mist obscured his shape, deadened his scent. He was a ghost.

The Cannibal eventually flapped away, towards its lair.

He takes to hunting in the predawn, when his scales render him unseen.

***  
The Second Lesson

He learns that the little-walkers are dangerous. They prowl their wood-stone-dens, stinking and living beneath the shadows of the dragons. Some arrive at his lair, chattering. He soars at a distance, watching the little-walkers patrol his lair. As the morning mist burns away, he is forced to earth in a seaside cavern. It is damp, foul with feathered-prey waste. 

His ethereal fire sets the cave ablaze, clearing the stench until he has the cover of night.   
He avoids the little-walkers even more, and fishes only in the most distant waters. The Ghost is deadly silent at all times. He never roars, or hisses. He must be on his guard. The little-walkers could hurt him. They could drive him away.

He must be hidden.

***  
The Third Lesson 

As he hunts, he grows bolder. The brown-mud-sheep-killer-queen is gone, and the bronze-old-stone-nest and his mate. More as well. He rules his little realm, growing with their vanishing. The Cannibal is content to sleep in its pits, stinking of illness and age. It seldom calls at dawn anymore, as the blood-sickness runs its course. 

Soon, he will be ruler of the island.

Save for the pale-green-moon-pearl hatchling. She flies from her black-stone-fire-false-dragon-nest, challenging him. Her roars echo off the cliffs, and she patrols his waters. His realm. The insolent pest even dared to fly to his lair. 

The hatchling must be slain, or driven off. A challenger is intolerable.

Then the sun-gold-fire-cripple dares to approach him at his hunting. 

He will deal with this pathetic challenger.

And thusly he learned his third lesson: never underestimate a cornered dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, I wanted to convey an impression of arrogance and caution. Grey Ghost is not challenged after the other dragons were tamed, and the Cannibal was apparently no threat to him.


End file.
